On Life and Laundry

As I steered my laundry cart down the sidewalk and played chicken with an oncoming mother and her screaming toddler, I congratulated myself on approaching another NYC milestone: laundry.

Observing the walk signage flash a blinking red, I thought better of my wobbly, overflowing cart and our successful cross of the street in time. As a newly aggressive New Yorker, I've noted it's pretty much the Wild West out here regarding traffic laws. If you feel like walking during a green light which runs perpendicular to your path, you go. And so, I go...even though I am still amazed the drivers don't seem to ever hit anyone. This time was different and I decided to wait - as it happens, this conservatism nearly saved me.

It turns out I am a terrible cart driver and I had to accelerate to Michael Jordan tongue out concentration so as not to dump two weeks of laundry onto the gross and horrendously bumpy sparkling clean, freshly paved street.  Let's put it this way, if cart driving is any indication of my fitness as a mother, add me to the do not reproduce list. Further, if foreshadowing is any indication, I suspected this was going to be a bumpy ride.

Unlike most new experiences, I entered the laundromat with my head held high. I practically minored in laundry in college. If I am good at anything in life, it's this. I rarely turn anything pink and lose very few socks. Also, this is the stuff movies are made of. You always meet cool new friends in the local laundromat. While I am not looking for a partner, you are supposed to meet many options for those, too. I even recall a Doritos commercial where two people met and immediately started dancing. The possibilities are endless! So I thought.

Two elderly women peered at me as if I was interrupting their very private afternoon tea. Okay, no Doritos dancing. I can see that now. "Jaimie, focus on the task. Get your head in the game. You'll make friends later." I turn to the machines. Wonderful - it seems the author of the IKEA furniture directions also does laundromats. Don't panic...don't panic. Well, the clothes have to go in them. I know that much. So I do that. The two ladies begin cackling in their native tongue and I am reminded of my superhero wish: to be able to communicate with any living thing. Sigh, it seems today is not the day I become a superhero.

The rest is clumsy but it happens. Many quarters later. Well, it's in the process of happening. I don't see any suds in my machines which is of slight concern. It reminds me of the time I tried to bake a cake in 2003. Yes, I can recall the number of the times I've attempted to do this because it's often not gone well. I am certain I forgot flour for this particular cake because it resembled creme brulee. I kept adding sugar thinking that was it. Fail. I have the WORST domestic (read: kitchen previously but maybe now add all domestic) instincts. I know I added soap. At least, I am almost 100% certain I did.

Update: I DID make a friend with one of those ladies after all. My mom Skyped me mid-drying and I answered. We spoke for a sec and then hung up. The woman inquired about Skype and I gave her a tutorial. Holla!!! Maybe she will teach me some of her laundry ways - she totally out-laundered me. Her clothes smell amazing and she is a really good folder. Mine are damp and sort of smell like damp, only-partially clean, soccer socks. Ick.